


Modern AU: prologue

by Tania_me



Series: SLBP modern AU retold [1]
Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY, 天下統一恋の乱 | Sakura Amidst Chaos | Samurai Love Ballad (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, multiple characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 20:32:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12540608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tania_me/pseuds/Tania_me
Summary: A modern AU vaguely set on the events of the SLBP prologue. Follows the general structure, with the events re-done for the modern age!





	1. Chapter 1

“Don’t forget, they need the cakes by 11!” Mom called out anxiously as I tucked the last box of cake into my car.

“Mom, it’s 10 o’clock,” I replied, glancing over my shoulder to see her standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her hands knotted in the fabric of her apron.

“Barring a freak Godzilla attack, there is no way I could be late getting this there.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” she said. “With how our luck seems to be going lately, I wouldn’t be surprised if that happened and then it would be our fault the entire city was destroyed.”

We laughed, but the truth was things really weren’t going so well for our little restaurant. This wedding cake order was the first catering job we’d received in weeks.

Sighing, I opened the driver’s side door and waved at Mom. “I wouldn’t want to be the cause of an unnatural disaster! I promise, no giant lizards will appear to get in the way of this cake delivery.” Buckling myself in, I unrolled the window to yell as Mom turned to go back inside, “but I make no promises about giant moths!”

She just shook her head and made a shooing motion at me as I grinned and shifted into gear, pulling out from the alley behind the restaurant. Settling in for the drive, the smile slowly fell from my face as I thought back on the past few months.

Six months ago, my father was murdered. The police still haven’t found who did it, nor even a motive for it; all our inquiries get met with a robotic, “the investigation is ongoing.” I moved home from the city to help Mom out after dad died. The truth was, I had been looking for an excuse to leave my job for months – I had found a job at a big multinational accounting firm fresh out of university, but over time the atmosphere began to feel like it was sucking the colour from my life. Toxic office politics and bosses whose hands wandered a little too freely had been taking their toll. Coming home seemed to have introduced a whole new set of problems, however.

Since being back, nothing seemed to go our way. Our landlord increased the rent of our little restaurant, citing the fact that it had an apartment on the second level as an excuse. The “protection money” charged by the mob operating in our little area had increased, as well. That directly led to a slow drift of regular customers (who we relied on for business) to greener, less mob-y pastures. My younger sister’s reaction to our father’s death was to focus less on her university courses and more on her parties. We were barely making it by each month. Every time I reconciled our slowly shrinking bank account, the cloud I could feel above my head grew.

However, all that I could cope with – if it weren’t for our landlord’s increasing presence.

He had first began showing up at our restaurant regularly when I began helping out in high school, leering at my uniform and making the sort of comments that masquerade as the polite compliments of an older man, but were designed solely to make you uncomfortable. He had made my skin crawl, but my father had made sure to keep me away from our landlord as much as possible, deflecting the man’s attention where he could. When I left for university, they tell me he stopped dropping by as often; now that I was back, however, he was there nearly every day. And now that I was an adult, the thin veneer of politeness had gone the way of the dodo. My usual tactic now was to pretend I didn’t understand what he meant (a feigned innocence he was only too eager to believe), or pretending I couldn’t hear him over the sound of the other customers.

“In five hundred metres, turn left. Your destination will be on the right.” The robotic voice of my GPS mispronouncing the street name snapped me out of my dreary thoughts.

“That street name doesn’t even have an L in it,” I told it as I pulled into the parking lot of the elegant hotel that was the final destination of our cakes. Glancing down at my outfit, I grimaced a little. My polka dot tunic, leggings, and ankle boots were not exactly on the same level as this edifice of polished steel and glass. Comparatively, I was a drab little nothing. But hey, at least I would be a comfortable drab little nothing. And, for the record, Mom (I thought), it’s only 10:45.

A man came out of the service door on the side as I walked around to the other side of my car.

“You must be Mai with the cakes. We’ve been expecting you. I hate to ask, but,” he hesitated, looking as if he was worried to be rude, “one of our staff called in sick and I was hoping that you would be able to help us set up. You will be compensated, of course.”

“Of course, that’s not a problem,” I replied. Our landlord usually came in around lunchtime, anyway. The longer I stayed here, the more likely I was to avoid having to deal with him. “Just tell me what to do.”

He lifted one of the cakes, and I followed carrying the other. Even the back halls were fancier than the nicest room of our house; the light came from bulbs inset into the ceiling, instead of the harsh halogens I would have expected in the behind the scenes areas. The walls were painted a soft cream instead of the usual industrial pea soup green we had had in the back areas of the offices I had worked in, and the carpet underneath was plush.

“Through here,” my guide said, pushing through a swinging door into a large ballroom. I couldn’t help but gasp at how lovely the room was. The floor was marble and polished so bright I almost felt I could see my reflection in it. Three large crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sending rainbows refracting over every surface. The walls were paneled mirrors, reflecting back the evidence that I was totally not dressed for a place like this.

“Who is this even for?” I wondered out loud. The order had been for two three-tiered cakes decorated in cascading flowers – Mom’s candy flowers were her source of pride.

My guide nodded his head in the direction of a group of people I hadn’t even noticed when we first came in, distracted by the opulence of the room itself. Two men in particular stood out, both strikingly handsome, even from halfway across the room. One man had dark red hair and a collared shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing glimpses of his sculpted pecs. The other was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, with only his slightly too long light brown hair ruining the image of a perfect businessman.

“Who are they?” I asked my guide, stealing the occasional glance as I unboxed the cakes as he lined up crystal champagne glasses beside me. Setting one of the cakes on the silver stand set on the table for it, I gently adjusted some of the candy petals and turned the cake so the most elegant side was facing the room. Mom had spent extra time on these, staying up late every night to paint a delicate pink blush on each candy petal.

“You don’t know?” he replied incredulously, his eyebrows raising so high they looked as if they were trying to escape his face. ”That’s Oda Nobunaga, the famous pop star.”

Stunned, I turned to look again. The man’s face is all over the TV; how could I not have noticed? Even if I couldn’t make out every detail of his face, you would think the unusual shade of his hair would have given it away.

As I stared, a hotel staff member approached the group and bowed apologetically. I was too far to hear what she said, but I definitely heard the response of one of Nobunaga’s entourage.

“Oichi specifically requested the PINK champagne,” he shouted. “How can you not have pink champagne? What kind of incompetent…”

That poor woman, I thought. Steeling up my courage, I prepared myself to go and interrupt (maybe I could say I need her help?) when someone else interfered before I could.

“Enough.” An icy voice cut through the man’s tirade. Immediately, the man stopped his yelling and looked at the source. Much to my shock, it appeared that Nobunaga was the one who had stopped the man in the middle of his scolding.  
“Mitsuhide,” Nobunaga said.

“Yes?” The man in the tailored suit replied.

“Fire this man,” Nobunaga said. “No need to provide references.” Turning his back to everyone, he walked out the room without a single glance back at the man who just lost his job.

Okay, I get firing the man, but providing no references seems unnecessarily harsh – he’s a jerk, but he still needs to get a job after this or he’ll lose his house or starve (my current situation clearly made me more sympathetic to fiscal suffering). The man was slumped over, looking stunned and absolutely devastated when the man called Mitsuhide said, not unkindly, “sorry, but you will have to leave. However, I will make sure your references are sent to you at your current address.”

“Y-y-yes. Thank you, sir,” the fired man stammered out before scurrying out the door. I sighed slightly in relief. Knowing the angry man wouldn’t be forced to starve, I could go back to thinking about what a huge jerk he was. And how nice it seems like Mitsuhide is.

“Are you done now?” my guide asked from behind, startling me.

Embarrassed at being caught watching the drama (how unprofessional I must look), I turned back to him and nodded. “Yes, the cakes are set out. What else did you need help with?”

“If you will follow me this way…”


	2. Chapter 2

After spending the better part of two hours helping my guide carry things from one place to another and handing him flowers and sparkly things as he set them up to look just so, I followed him to his office after we handed off a stack of linens to a couple of housekeepers. As he typed something up on his computer, he said, “That’s all this done. Thank you very much for all your help. I know it was last minute and I probably kept you from your own work at the restaurant.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I replied. “I scheduled plenty of time for the delivery, anyway.” And you asking for my help gave me an excuse to avoid my landlord, I added in my head.

“Well, I appreciate the help. I’ll just give you this –“ He printed off, signed the bottom of, and handed to me a form addressed to a Mr Tokugawa, covered with the details of the help I just provided and the time spent. “If you take it to the office just outside those doors, we’ll send a payment on as soon as it’s approved.”

“I will, thank you again,” I said. Having a sudden thought, I reached into my pocket for one of our restaurant’s business cards and present it to him politely. “If anyone ever asks you about catering, I hope that you will consider recommending our restaurant!”

He took it with a smile and nodded. After exchanging goodbyes, I pushed past the door into the hallway outside. It clearly belonged to an area of the hotel that was available to guests, as the understated classiness of the back halls gave way to gilt and wall sconces and a high vaulted ceiling. The only aspect that saved it from gaudiness was the understated colour scheme – cream and pastel pinks served to offset the gold of liberally strewn on every surface that could conceivably be gilded and the crystals that draped from the elaborate sconces. The light itself a warm golden glow reminiscent of candlelight. A rich person’s paradise, I thought to myself as I passed an arched recess containing a beautiful porcelain vase painted with delicate cherry blossoms, the branches themselves glinting gold. I imagined that this is what Versailles would have looked like back before the peasants got sick of the nobility being selfish jerks and chopped their heads off.

Reaching the cream-painted door with the (gilded, naturally) nameplate saying “Tokugawa Ieyasu,” I knocked politely and walked through after hearing a muffled voice say, “Enter.” The room was clearly a receptionist’s office; another door on the opposite side of the room had a frosted window set in its polished wood and a waiting area with tall chairs and a plush couch was set off to the side. The colour scheme in here was darker, more masculine, the hunter green walls paneled with a warm, gold wood. A man was standing beside what I assumed was the receptionist’s desk, though there was currently no one seated behind it. His hair was nearly as gold as the gilding outside, rivaling the paneling for sheen, but his eyes were a shade of deep amber, almost red in the centre, glancing over at me as he lifted a small pastry from the tea tray sitting on the desk, a slight dusting of powdered sugar setting on the cuff of the suit that even I could tell was Italian made and expensively tailored.

“I was told to bring this to Mr Tokugawa?” I said, approaching him and holding out the piece of paper. The man with the pastry took it from me with his free hand and placed it in the “in” tray on the desk with barely a glance at the content.

“Try this,” he said without preamble, suddenly thrusting the pastry towards my face before I had a chance to say anything else. Nonplussed, my first instinct was to open my mouth and accept it before a hand reached behind me and plucked the pastry off the blonde man’s hand. Surprised, I spun around to see another man pop it into his mouth with a smile.

Where did he come from, I thought, looking around in confusion until I realized that he must have been sitting in one of the tall chairs with its back turned towards the entry. He winked a kind brown eye at me as he chewed, his shaggy brown hair looking oddly fitting when combined with his collared shirt (with the precisely two top buttons undone) that was paired with dress slacks and a casual blazer.

“This is good,” he said to the other man, walking over to the tea tray and grabbing another pastry. “You should get in here before I eat it all.”

“So it’s safe to eat then,” the blond man said, picking the tray up and walking into the office with the frosted window. The man with the kind eyes mouthed a silent “sorry,” giving me a half wave as he followed. The door shut behind them with a decisive click as I stood there in confusion. Safe to eat? I thought to myself. Voices drifted through from the other office, raised enough so that I could hear what they were saying. Guiltily, I decided to listen for a moment before leaving. It’s not really that bad to eavesdrop after someone says something so cryptic, right? Especially if it involved you.

My conscience remained unconvinced, but my curiosity pummeled it into submission and we all listened together anyway.

“What the hell did you think you were doing? You can’t just have some random woman test your food for poison just because she’s there!” That voice belonged to the kind-eyed man.

“You know my last receptionist tried to poison me…” The voice faded, its owner moving too far from the door for me to hear anything more. At that, I turned and left the room, my knees feeling weak as I realized exactly what had happened. He was trying to check if his food was poisoned by feeding it to me. And his food at been poisoned before. Poisoned by his receptionist?! What kind of terrible boss must he be for his staff to be trying to poison him?

Wobbling slightly as I walked, the slight tremors in my legs taking time to go away, I made it back to my car. Pulling out my phone, I searched the name “Tokugawa Ieyasu.” The top result was a news page which read, “Tokugawa Ieyasu, the owner of a chain of hotels operating under the brand ‘Shogun,’ recently entered into a sponsorship arrangement with Oda Nobunaga, the famous pop star. The two plan on collaborating on…” The news story continued for a few more paragraphs detailing their plans.

Okay. So the billionaire owner of a hotel chain just tried to poison me. Or not poison me. He tried to Schrodinger’s Poison Pastry me, is what he did, and that was pretty shitty. Who does that?

Putting my phone away, I buckled into my seatbelt and drove back home.


	3. Chapter 3

By my calculations, my trip should have taken me until the end of the lunch rush. On the one hand, I had been gone for nearly four hours. On the other hand, our landlord had shown up for a late breakfast so it was possible that he would also be showing up for a late lunch. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much I could do about it anyway. He would either be there or not be there with his uncomfortably… lingering interest. However, there was an odd sort of comfort in the fact that his obsession seemed to be me, specifically – it meant that at least he hadn’t targeted any other young women who would have to figure out the best route home to avoid him.

Pulling into the parking space reserved for our family’s vehicles, I saw the early afternoon sun shining off the familiar glimpses of scalp that peeked out from beneath a poorly disguised comb over. It looked like luck was not on my side today – our landlord was lounging outside our restaurant, leaning against a lamppost and cleaning his nails with a toothpick. Sighing deeply, I braced myself before getting out of my car. Maybe if I just avoid eye contact and hurry past and look really busy he won’t try to stop me, I think, closing the car door and hitting the button on the keychain to lock the doors.

And immediately realize my mistake. Our landlord’s eyes light up as he looks over at the sound, and he moves in front of me as I make a beeline for the restaurant door, standing in front of me to block my access and forcing me to look up in order to avoid walking into him. Frankly, better his eyes than his shirt. He was dressed in what looked like an expensive silk shirt, but the fine fabric was ruined by the gaudy Hawaiian flowers print and the buttons done far enough to reveal a hairy chest with a thick gold chain tangling amongst the damp pelt. Damnit damnit damnit, me, I thought. I should have snuck past and THEN locked the car. He moved close enough to me that had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

I think his lack of respect for my personal bubble is the worst thing about him. To quote Dirty Dancing, this is my dance space. I don’t go into your and you don’t go into mine, and if I don’t let Patrick freakin’ Swayze into my dance space you can bet your ass our landlord isn’t welcome there.

“I thought I had missed you earlier. I was so sad when your mother said you had gone out on a delivery earlier. I wanted to talk to you,” he said, reaching out a hand towards my cheek which I deftly sidestepped. “Have you thought more on my proposal? I know it must have shocked you that I asked again after you rejected me the first time, but my sweet, think of how pampered you would be. Why, you would never have to work again.”

“As I told you last week, I am flattered but not interested,” I replied flatly. Last week had been the second time in the past three months that he had proposed marriage. I can’t say it had come as a shock, either. “I believe marriage should be between two people who love each other.”

“If you marry me, I have connections,” he said, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. “I can turn your dingy little shack into a real restaurant, with the finest clientele.”

At that, I saw red. My father had poured his soul into this restaurant – even now, months after his passing, our online reviews averaged above four stars. And this man, this small, petty man with no talent and a terrible hairdo was going to insult it? Blatantly disrespecting my father’s life’s work so soon after his murder and to my face?

“This ‘dingy little shack,’ as you say, attracts people from all over the country,” I said, my voice raising on each syllable until I was shouting. “I will not let a pathetic man like you who relies on intimidation and shady connections for anything he has in life to insult the best damn food in the city!”

My shouting has attracted the attention of the passersby, people slowing to stare out the side of their eyes at our confrontation. As I stand there panting, my fists clenched angrily, our landlord’s expression went from shock to infatuation. He raised one hand to his chest and pressed it against his chest as if to contain his heart.

“Oooh you’re cute when you’re angry,” he cooed at me, reaching out and grabbing my arm, pulling me towards him. Unable to avoid it in time, I leaned back with all my might to avoid the full body contact he was going for and stumbled as I unexpectedly met almost no resistance.

“What the…” I started to say, catching my footing and looking back to see our landlord fall flat on his face. Behind him was my younger sister, one foot sticking out from where she had apparently kicked our landlord behind his knee.

“Just piss off already, you old pervert,” she growled at him. “Get a life. The next time I see you try to touch my sister, I’m calling the cops!”

A few of the spectators cheered at that. He was not a popular man in our area, that’s for sure. I can’t imagine our restaurant was the only business in the area that was under the protection ring he worked for. His face contorted in rage as he noted their reactions – for a man like him, who relied on brute force and intimidation to get by, being laughed at was the biggest insult he could receive.

“Filthy brat,” he spat out, getting to his feet and turning toward my sister. She was taller than I, but still no match for our landlord. I went to move in front of her as he raised his hand to strike her, but someone grabbed his wrist from behind before he could even begin his downward swing.

“Inuchiyo!” I gasped gratefully.

Inuchiyo wrenched our landlord’s arm behind him, easily flipping him back onto the ground. Inuchiyo’s dark hair was as messy as it was the last time I’d seen him; clearly he had ignored my advice to get his hair trimmed. He silently glared down at our landlord with lavender eyes. Our landlord, for his part, didn’t shift from his position on the ground where Inuchiyo held him, his only movement the slight tremble imparted from his rage.

After a full minute of Inuchiyo’s intense glare, our landlord visibly wilted and Inuchiyo relented, letting our landlord scramble up off the ground. Our landlord shot a venomous glance towards my sister and me before he scrambled off, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to get away from someone bigger and stronger than he was. The small crowd of spectators began to disperse, as well, until the only people left outside our restaurant were me, my sister, and Inuchiyo.

“Great timing, Inuchiyo,” I said, reaching out to dust some dirt off the sleeve his leather jacket. As usual, he wore a brightly coloured shirt underneath – today’s was a shade of lilac only a little bit light than his eyes. However, no one would make the mistake of thinking Inuchiyo’s colour palate meant he was an easy target. My childhood friend was built like a tank and nearly as tall as one.

“You need to ban him from your restaurant already,” Inuchiyo replied. “I can’t always be around to protect you, and you don’t seem to want to lie about having a boyfriend to get that man off your case already.”

“You know Mai, Inuchiyo,” my sister said, rolling her eyes at me, “She thinks men should just accept a ‘no’ without needing anything else. Which is all well and good in theory, but like, super naïve.”

Stung, I retorted, “He should just leave me alone because I want him to leave me alone, not because I belong to some other guy! I don’t think expecting someone to not be a creep is naïve.”

“Then you should go back to working the city,” Inuchiyo said. “He seems to be focused on you. I bet he’d stop bothering your family if you left again.”

“I can’t go back until my sister is finished school,” I said, shooting a glance at her. She stuck her tongue at me in silent reply. Good god, was that a piercing? When did she get that?! You know what… nevermind. Mom will freak, but not my business.

“Then get a boyfriend for real. He’ll hear about it through the grapevine and then you won’t have to worry about telling him about it to get him off your case.”

“You say that like I’m deliberately out here going, ‘oh gee, being single is so super awesome, I hate dating, I’m never lonely.’ I want to date, it’s just hard…” I trailed off as I noticed Inuchiyo had his motorcycle bags slung over his shoulder. He’s got another bodyguard job, I think. His last one ended with a broken ribs after his client was attacked by a rabid fan – getting the phone call that Inuchiyo was in the hospital had been the worst thing to happen to me before my dad died.

“Whose life is getting your ribs broken this time? I bet they’re super worth it,” I said, sarcasm threading through my voice.

“Client confidentiality,” he replied, smiling gently at me. He’s known me long enough to recognize the concern I was hiding behind the jokes. “I’ll be fine.”

He ruffled my sister’s hair before he walked off, pausing for a moment to look curiously at the neon green streak she’d added yesterday. As we watched him go, my sister said, “You know, it’ll be harder to keep our landlord off your back with him gone.”

 

Silently, I agreed. Outwardly, I said, “What, are you kidding? You kicked his ass earlier. No way he’ll want to take you on again.”

She laughed and lightly punched me in the shoulder. “Yeah, take that!”

I mimed grabbing my shoulder in agony, pulling a face at her like a sad clown. “Oooh so strong. Let’s go in before you pummel me black and blue.”

“He’ll be fine,” my sister said quietly as we walked into the restaurant, awkwardly patting my back. She was not so good at the comfort thing, but she was trying.

I reached up and touched the butterfly charm dangling from the necklace my father had given me for my birthday before he passed, rotating the chain so that the clasp was at the back of my neck again. Since his death, I sort of saw it as a talisman, touching it for luck whenever things felt down. Please let Inuchiyo be safe this time, I thought as the door to the restaurant swung shut behind us.


	4. Chapter 4

“There you two are!” Immediately upon entering the kitchen, our mother set to scolding us from her position in front of the stove. “Kazuko, I need you in the kitchen, Mai, you get to serving. We’re having a late lunch rush today and I just don’t know what took you so long.”

“I texted you!” I said, waving my phone around. “I told you I wouldn’t be here for the lunch rush.”

“And I had class,” my sister said as she draped an apron over her head and tied it around her waist.

“And Kuzi actually going to class is definitely a win, Mom,” I said, reaching up to tie my hair back. My sister responded by sticking her tongue out at me before she turned to the cutting board and began chopping up some onions.

“I keep telling you, I can’t read the screen without my glasses,” mom replied, pouring the food from the pan she’d been cooking with onto a plate and reaching for the rice. “You need to phone me.”

“No one calls these days, Mom,” Kazuko said, her voice thick from cutting the onions. She might not be the most dedicated student these days, but her work ethic at our restaurant was still strong – she knew I hated cutting onions more than anything and she always made sure there were extras when she was working on prep. I felt a surge of warmth in my chest as I remembered how much I loved these two – and then I got a whiff of onion and my eyes began to sting. I’ll get back to feeling squishy inside once the onions were all out of the way, I thought.

“I do. And you will too if you want to reach me,” Mom said with finality. “Now, get this order to table four in the back.” She pushed an order of three plates toward me, which I balanced on my arms with the ease born of years of practice and pushed out the swinging doors into the main dining room.

Glancing about the room, I saw Mom had been right – we were surprisingly busy considering it was nearly 2 o’clock. Even on a weekend, that was late for a rush. My eyes caught on a man sitting by himself at the quietest table in a corner of the room, sipping at some tea and reading a book. One of our regulars, he was easily recognized by the contrast between his bright green eye and his dark hair. Yes, I said eye. His other was covered by an eyepatch, which was an odd sartorial choice in this day and age but it lent him a sort of rakish charm, as if he were a modern day throwback to pirates, though his fine grey sweater and dark jeans might look out of place on the high seas. Jeans especially are not very comfortable when wet. I gave him a polite nod as I walked past him to the private dining room, noting as I passed that his tea mug was almost empty. I made a mental note to fill his cup once I served my current customers.

“Here you are, gentlemen.” I placed the dishes in front of the three men seated in the small booth at the back. It was made easy by the fact that they had all ordered the same dish.

“About time,” one grouched, putting his phone down and pulling the plate towards himself aggressively, nearly dumping the food off.

 

Okay, buddy, I said internally, sorry we actually took the time to properly cook your food. Next time we’ll just let you enjoy your salmonella. Outwardly, though, I said, “Sorry for the wait. Please enjoy!” Forcing a smile onto my face that I was sure looked more like a death rictus (not that they noticed; at no point had any of the three of them even looked at me), I backed out of the booth and made my way to the drink station to grab a pot of tea.

“Can I get you anything else?” I asked the man in the eyepatch as I refilled his tea. As always, I was struck by his presence. There was something about him that really did make you feel like he wouldn’t be out of place at the prow of a ship, shouting out commands to a crew of unruly men.

Clearly my encounter with our landlord had left me a little loopy if I was picturing our regulars captaining pirate ships. Though, hmm, he did look as if he could fill out an unbuttoned white shirt that was still inexplicably tucked into his waistband… No Mai. Pay attention. I made eye contact with the man, desperately grateful that mind reading wasn’t real, but as he opened his mouth to speak before a loud voice bellowed out from the room I had just deposited the plates into.

“Hey, girl,” one of the men shouted, sticking his head out of the room. Unfortunately, it was not the sort of “hey girl” of the memes involving Ryan Gosling, this being way less affirming of women and more of an attempt at insulting them – or specifically, me. “Our food isn’t even cooked! We waited forever and you can’t even bring us proper food!”

Seriously? First, there was no way they had waited that long. I glanced over at our part time server and he shook his head and held up both hands with his fingers spread where the man with his head sticking out the room couldn’t see. Ten minutes was too long? Go back to McDonalds, geez.

“I’m very sorry about that,” I said, baring my teeth in what I hoped would pass for a smile. The man held his plate towards me as I walked towards the entrance of their booth, but he let it fall to the floor just before I reached it.

“What are you…” I began until one of the other men moved out of the booth, sweeping the other two plates off the table to join the first on the floor. I jumped back to avoid the spray of food.

“We don’t serve uncooked food here, and we never have,” fumed Kazuko, moving forward to stick her face in that of the ringleader. Ineffectively, as it happens, because he stood at least ten centimetres taller than she was. “Stop spouting crap. If you don’t like it, leave.”

“What kind of restaurant is this? You should be begging for our money,” the man said, shoving my sister away and sending her into the wall with a thud.

What the hell? I ran over to Kazuko and pushed her behind me protectively. I shouted at the men, “Get out! I’m going to call the police!”

The thinner of the three men sneered at me. “You think the police care what happens to your stupid little restaurant? Go ahead, call them.” Turning, he picked up the chair that had been sitting across the man with the eyepatch, clearly intent on smashing it into the floor. So these men were more of the landlord’s type – the type the police turned a blind eye to unless the public outcry made them, and no one would make a public outcry for a barfight (even if it wasn’t actually a bar).

“Stop!” I cried out, lunging forward to try to grab him before he could throw it, but one of the other men kicked me in the side before I get close enough. The force was enough to send me into the wall they had just pushed Kazuko into, my head snapping back with a sharp smack into the wall. Turns out getting kicked in the side really hurts, and it also turns out that getting kicked in the side after living a life where you never expected to be in a situation where a person would kick you in the side is surprising as hell. The shock of someone hitting me left me more speechless than the breath being knocked out of me.

My mind completely blank, I just leaned against the wall for a moment before I noticed a glint on the floor. Taking a deep breath (which, ow, hurt), I reached towards my throat in a panic. My necklace! The chain must have snapped when I fell into the wall.

“What is this?” One of the men noticed my necklace at the same time I did, but he was closer. He raised his foot, clearly intending on stomping on my little charm, but I moved quickly and dove down to grab his leg before he could. Glaring down at me, the man raised his fist. I groped behind myself for my necklace as I braced myself for the impact – I couldn’t let the charm get any more broken than it was.

But the impact doesn’t come. In fact, the man whose leg I had just been clinging to fell backwards, his calf slipping out of my grasp at the speed of his movement away. Looking up, I saw the man in the eyepatch rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. Kazuko was gaping at him from the other side of the men – she must have seen what had happened.

“Keep it down,” he said. Two of men who were just about to wreck our restaurant were sitting on the floor, groaning. Keep it down, he said. Not that I’m complaining about the help, or anything (I was an accountant. I’m not exactly equipped to take on three men who weigh half again as much as I do), but you just watch three men attack two small women without provocation and all you can say is, “keep it down”? I hope the serious side eye I am giving him isn’t too obvious, because he is a regular, but come on.

The rest of the dining room was empty except for our part time server who had pressed himself against the wall on the other side of the room. It must have cleared out when the fight started. The man in the eyepatch was staring down the last man standing, who blanched. Clearly conceding defeat, he made a break for the door. Instinctively I moved in front of him to block his escape (he hasn’t paid!) and immediately regretted my action when he raised his fist to hit me. I braced myself for impact (words I never thought I’d say) when a hand shot out from behind me and grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it sharply.

What now? This has already been the craziest lunch rush ever and I’ve only been on the floor for ten minutes. I turned around to see yet another man, this one well built with shiny black hair (oh man, so shiny, what conditioner does he use?) and the most striking turquoise eyes I have ever seen in my life. He was wearing a red button up that was halfway undone to reveal the muscular male version of cleavage and a white undershirt over grey jeans.

Was today “the day of hot dudes,” or something? They were everywhere today.

In any case, the man only glanced at me briefly as if to make sure I was okay before he locked his eyes onto the man in the eyepatch. “I thought someone would take it upon themselves to make a scene. Who would have thought it would be the One-Eyed Dragon?”

Oh, great, I thought. What now?


	5. Chapter 5

“What do you want, Sanada?” The man in the eyepatch asked, his voice flat. Maybe they were friends and Red Shirt was looking for him?

Instead of responding like a normal, polite person would, the man in the red shirt shoved the man whose wrist he was holding towards the man in the eyepatch, swinging the man around and forward like the worst dance ever (“that was bloody awful,” Simon Cowell drawled in the back of my mind). The man in the eyepatch barely moved, only shifting his feet slightly to brace himself before he backhanded the man-cum-projectile onto the floor.

“Let’s end this!” Red Shirt said.

Okay, almost definitely not friends, then.

The three men who were trying to wreck our restaurant were now all laid out on the floor, groaning. At least there was some positive to this – no wrecked furniture, just a couple of broken plates and maybe a few broken teeth. Eyepatch and Red Shirt were still staring each other down. At this point, I’d been kicked, I’d had food thrown at me, someone had pushed my sister into a wall, I’d had our creepy landlord attempt to turn me into his sugar baby and I was so damn done with it all.

“Weapons?” Eyepatch said.

“Right here,” Red Shirt said, bunching up a fist and smacking it into his other palm. I rolled my eyes. Nothing like beating the shit out of each other to really make you feel like a man. I looked over at Eyepatch to check his reaction and saw him reaching into his waistband to pull out a… wait. Was that a gun?

“Stop this right freaking now,” I shouted, reaching out to wrap myself around Red Shirt’s arm and glaring up at him. This idiot was going to get himself shot at this rate, and I’ll be damned if I wanted to add cleaning up blood to the list of what we already had to clean off the floor.

“Wh-what are you doing?” The man stammered out, a bright red flush creeping up from the top of his chest to light his face on fire. Slightly confused, I glanced down at myself to confirm I hadn’t involuntarily lost my shirt. Nope, still clothed – his reaction seemed a little excessive considering the situation, but he did look pretty adorable. No, Mai, stop getting distracted, I scolded myself.

“Look at my restaurant!” I said, waving my hand towards the mess, noticing in the process that Eyepatch and the three men seemed to have slipped away at some point Good riddance. “It’s a mess! I’m sorry for grabbing you, especially considering you stopped that guy from hitting me, but this isn’t okay!”

“No, I, um… you’re right. I’m sorry for just barging in like that,” Red Shirt said, avoiding my eyes. Huffing out a breath of irritation, I turned back to my sister and our part time server.

“Let’s get this mess cleaned up before we get any new customers,” I said. Moving over to where my necklace had falled, I gathered up the pieces of the broken chain as I tried to find the charm. It must have been knocked somewhere when Eyepatch punched the guy away from me. I began to shift the furniture close to me around, peering into every nook and cranny in my search.

The man in the red shirt came over and held out his hand. “Are you looking for this?” he asked, holding out the charm in his hand.

“Thank you!” I said profusely, reaching over to take it from his hand before folding it carefully into mine. He looked away, not meeting my eyes again. He was surprisingly shy for a man who was just challenging someone to a bout of fisticuffs.

“I guess it’s broken,” he mumbled before he turned and walked away. Well, clearly, I thought, but it was nice for him to be concerned. Opening my palm, I looked at the pieces of chain and the little butterfly charm which was thankfully still intact, even if the rest of it was broken. I sniffled a bit at the sight of the broken necklace – it was my father’s last gift to me and there would never be another, and even though I knew it could be fixed, it still felt like a really big deal.

“Isn’t that the necklace Dad gave you?” Kazuko had come over and was peering into my hand. The sniffling turned into full fledged tears at that point.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” I managed to choke out before I ran out the door.

As I usually did when I felt sad, I made my way to the spot along the river near our house where I used to play as a kid. Once got there, I collapsed onto the rock that had always been there, worn smooth by years of erosion, and just sobbed. I hadn’t really cried about my father’s death in the six months since he’d died; I was too busy being strong for my mom and sister, picking up the slack so they could fall apart a little.

Not going to lie to you, it was pretty cathartic. It felt kind of like the chain that blocks the harbour had snapped and all the ships (or tears) could now escape without having to pay the harbour toll.

Okay, the metaphor fell apart a bit towards the end there, but I’m sure my point made it across that harbour.

In the interest of full disclosure, I am an ugly cryer. I’m noisy, my nose runs, my eyes turn as red as the entrance to hell – it’s not pretty. I looked at the fragments of my necklace in my hand as I sobbed, hiccuping a little as the tears wound down.

“Why is this happening,” I said out loud, figuring there was no one around to hear the crazy crying girl talking to herself. Unfortunately I found out I was wrong when I heard a voice speak up from behind the little stand of bushes by the river.

“I can hear you,” it said. A man’s voice, it was laced with irritation and was raspy as if its owner had just woken up. Crap! No one usually came here this time of year – it was still too cold for walking along the river for most people. “Can’t even get a decent nap around here,” it grumbled, as a man stepped out from behind the cover. Okay, maybe I was a little loud, but who sleeps on the ground by a river in near freezing temperatures anyway? This isn’t on me.

“Uh, sorry?” I said, my voice involuntarily lilting up at the end as I got a good look at the man. Black shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, clearly made of fine silk. A red leather jacket overtop, only a few shades lighter than the man’s hair… wait a minute. Wasn’t that Oda Nobunaga, the pop star? What was he doing here, by the side of the river, napping on the cold ground? He had been in a hotel literally a couple of hours ago, don’t those usually have, oh, I don’t know, rooms? With real beds?

Clearly celebrities led different lives.

“You’re crying your eyes out because that broke?” he asked, waving his hand towards the necklace in my palm. “How pathetic.”

“Says the man who sleeps on rocks like a vagrant?” I retorted before I could stop myself. Cool, great, let’s insult the guy with money and connections, Mai.

“If you can find the strength in you to cry, you can find the strength in you to do something about it.”

“You don’t even know what ‘it’ is, with all due respect.” His platitude felt pretty empty right now, with my eyes sore, but it did make me fish in a pocket to find a tissue to wipe my face with.

The man had already turned and begun walking away, clearly uninterested in continuing this conversation. I stuck my tongue out at his back, knowing he wouldn’t notice. Even with the brief impression I had got just now, I could tell he wasn’t the sort of man who ever looks back. Only forward. But still, I had to ask.

“Umm, wait. Are you… uh, are you Oda Nobunaga?”

The man briefly turned to look at me (successfully made him look back. Win!), his face covered in irritation like mine was with splotchy red spots.

“What would make you think that?” he said. “Get out of here. Someone looks like they’re looking for you.”

What would make me think that is the fact you look identical to him, obviously, but I didn’t say anything in reply, instead turning toward the path to the road and seeing my mother at the top of the steps down to the river, beckoning me towards her frantically. Tucking my necklace into a pocket (and my used, gross tissue in a completely different one to dispose of once I found a garbage can), I realized exactly how cold it was. I’d run out without a jacket on, and it wasn’t quite spring yet. I hurried over to her, curious about what had made her leave the restaurant in the middle of afternoon prep.

“What’s up?” I asked curiously. 

She sighed heavily. “Our landlord just came in. He brought three men with him. Your sister said they had been in the restaurant earlier? He refused to speak to us without you being there, though, so I left your sister with them.”

“What’s she going to do if they start anything else?” I asked. “And anyway, where were you when everything was happening? Didn’t you wonder what all the noise was about?”

“I had the music on,” she replied defensively. “I didn’t even realize anything had happened until your sister came to get some cleaning supplies.”

Fair enough, I guess. Mom did like her music while she cooked.

Sure enough, when we got back to the restaurant, our landlord was sitting at a table with the three men fanned out behind him. My sister was standing by the door to the kitchen, her arms crossed, glaring at the four men.

“All these men did was complain about the food you served them,” our landlord said. “Is this how you treat your customers? I can’t have my tenants running an establishment that would alienate perfectly reasonable people like these fine men.” He waved a hand towards the men behind him, one sporting a black eye, another with his wrist in a sling, and the third with a lip swollen and red. Eyepatch and Red Shirt definitely did a number on them, I thought. With the clarity of afterthought, it was clear those men had been the landlord’s stooges from the start. I bet the man who had been looking at his phone had just received orders from our landlord to start something if I refused his oh-so-generous offer to be his sugar baby.

“You honestly think I did that?” I said, pointing at the men. The shortest of them was still a good fifteen centimetres taller than I was. Unlikely as it was that I could change what was going to happen, I had to make an attempt at being reasonable.

“If not you, then men you hired. Nevertheless, I run a tight ship, and I’m afraid that I can’t have tenants who act this way.” He paused for a moment, a sly look crossing his face. “Unless you are willing to make a deal, that is.”

A deal? I felt sick to my stomach.

“What do you want?” I said flatly. I had my suspicions, but I wanted to hear them confirmed.

Our landlord looked at his men and nodded towards the door. They shuffled out, giving my sister and me the stinkeye as they went. I mean, what the heck. They started it. Some other dudes finished it. I was the one who got kicked and my sister was the one who got pushed for not wanting our home destroyed. I made a rude gesture at their backs because seriously, screw those guys.

“Now, you’ve probably guessed I have certain… friends,” he began, settling back into the chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. He probably thought he looked powerful and calculating, but he actually looked like he had a stomach ache. “These friends are looking to get someone on the inside of some influential people. Someone who won’t be viewed with suspicion, who can… encourage the person in question into sharing my friend’s views. Someone like…”

He paused, as if savouring the moment. “Encourage,” he said. By his tone and his leer, it was clear he meant attempting to seduce them into it. It wasn’t one of my strengths (my flirting game was the social equivalent of playing with a deflated ball), but I could do it.

“Like sweet young Kazuko over there,” he finished.

What? I looked over at my sister who was looking back at me with an equally flummoxed look.

“I’ve pulled some strings and gotten her an internship. She is expected to start in two days, which gives you enough time to get to the city. Further instructions will be given to her later,” he said, his grin turning sharp as he noticed our distress. “Unless, of course, you’d rather close down…”

“No! I’ll do it,” my sister said.

“Uh, the hell you will,” I retorted. Turning back to our landlord, I said, “You can’t do this!”

“I think your sister just agreed, my sweet.”

“Mai, it’s okay.” Walking over, my sister put her hand on my shoulder. “How hard can it be? It’s probably some old man who’ll be overjoyed at a young girl going after him.” She grinned at me, but I could see the tension in her jaw.

Mom was silent, her face pale. She’d never been good at confrontation, which is why she’d never run the front of house.

“It’s not okay!” I exclaimed.

“I can see you maybe need to spend some time convincing your sister,” our landlord said to Kazuko, standing and handing my sister a piece of paper. “Here is my number. Text me when you’re ready to go and I’ll tell you where.”

Her face pale, my sister took the piece of paper and immediately entered it into her phone. As our landlord walked past me as he left, he stopped and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Punishing your sister for your refusal is so much more sweet, my dear. Maybe next time you’ll think again about turning me down.” With a final ironic bow towards us, he walked out into the street, whistling a jaunty little off-key song.

“Kuzi, you can,” I said as soon as he left.

“Mai, I can and I will,” she replied stubbornly. “You heard him. It’s an internship with an important company. Think of how good that will look on my resume.”

“What about the part where you’re working for THE MOB, Kazuko? Or the part where you seduce your boss? How will that look on your resume?” 

“Mai. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. You can’t stop me.”

I turned to our mother imploringly. “Mom, you can’t let her do this!”

Mom chewed her lip agitatedly. “Mai…” she began. Never a good sign. “Your sister is right. She is an adult.”

“Not you, too,” I said with disappointment.

“This is your father’s legacy,” she said, with more strength than she had anything else that day. “If your sister wants to save it, then she has that right.” Nodding decisively, Mom moved to the door to turn the sign to “closed” and turn the key in the lock. “We can discuss this more tomorrow. For now, let’s all go upstairs. No work tonight.”

Seeing this was a lost cause, I went up to my room, avoiding the company of my mother and sister. I could hear them murmuring in the living room for a while before the sound of the TV came on. Another of those soap operas they loved.

I couldn’t let this happen. My sister had her entire life ahead of her – she hadn’t even finished college. If everything went wrong with this (and when it involved the mob, things didn’t have to go wrong for you to get mired in crap), her future would be gone. What was it the weird man by the river had said? “If you have the strength to cry, you have the strength to do something about it.”

Right. I’d done an internship. I knew how these things work. They wouldn’t know me from Adam, so I could just go in, pretend to be my sister, and figure out the best way to seduce an old CEO. No problem. I could flash him my boobs, maybe? Hmm. No, that would probably just get me escorted out by security. Whatever, I would figure out this seduction thing when I got there (and believe me, it was a little irksome realizing that my younger sister probably would be better at this than I would be).

Mind made up, plan made, I began packing my bags. I still had a lot of office appropriate clothes from when I moved back from the city. I mostly stuck to “business casual,” figuring that an intern would probably not be entirely certain of dress codes. I also made sure to include my shorter skirts and lower cut tops and higher heels. Maybe those would help with my seduction game.

Once I was fully packed, I sat at my desk and wrote a note letting my mom and sister know I had taken her place and that I would let them know I was okay once I got there. After I finished that, I had too much energy to do much of anything else. I couldn’t concentrate enough to read or play a game, so I sat on my bed and fidgeted until I heard my mom and sister go to bed. And then I waited another hour until I was sure they were asleep before I left to sneak into my sister’s room and take her phone from her bedside table.

“Sorry for this, Kuzi,” I thought as I scrolled through her contacts and selected the one named “Super creep,” first name, “He’s super creepy,” last name. I felt a small surge of pride for my sister at that one.

“I’m ready. Tell me where to go.“


End file.
